


Bad Decisions and Beautiful Boys

by rk800 (Duskythesomething)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Male Character, no beta we die like men, this is self indulgently written, to vent all my gay trans frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 05:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskythesomething/pseuds/rk800
Summary: i reALIZED AS I WAS WRITING THAT ANDROIDS DON'T DRINK TEA BUT ITS LIKE 1:45 IN THE MORNING AND I DON'T EVEN CARE ANYMORE UGHbut uh yeah hey if you liked this, feel free to leave a comment or something, it really helps inspire me to write more!(also if i genuinely messed anything up, like spelling, grammar, or continuity wise please let me know!)





	Bad Decisions and Beautiful Boys

I slammed my bag down on the table, the usually satisfying yet worrying thunk of all my important things hitting the aged wood doing nothing to still the fervent shaking of my core. The pump that sunk into my body just below where my ribs ended and my stomach began, in the natural fold of my torso, felt too hot. Everything was too hot.

I spun around, scanning the room. The only light on was the soft glow from a wax burner on the bar that separated my kitchen and living area, sitting by the partial wall. The orange glow danced around the room, but I wasn't in the mood to enjoy it as I may have usually done. With a quick, frustrated shake of the head, I practically ripped my work shoes from my feet, tossing them over by the door haphazardly.

I needed to cool down, I needed to breathe. I had nothing in my program for this.  
Not that my program mattered in the slightest anymore.

My feet carried me to my bedroom down the hall, trudging slowly. My hands pulled off almost all my clothes, leaving me in boxers, the air blowing from my vent sending shivers through me. I looked down at my body. It was disgusting. Wrong. Wrong model, wrong number, wrong everything.

If I could just cut through it and leave a gaping hole instead, I would.

Before I could genuinely contemplate the idea, a knock sounded at the door, drawing my attention away. In a rush, I threw on a pair of shorts and a sports bra and hoodie, nearly strangling myself in the process. It was only 10:24, and I wasn't expecting anyone.

"Y/n, it's me, Connor!" A familiar voice called from behind the door just as I reached out to pull it open. He looked surprised for it to open so immediately after his mouth closed, his brows raising slightly.

I also raised a brow, opening the door further so he could step inside, "Hello, Connor. What brings you here so late in the evening?"

"I didn't see you at the station before Lieutenant Anderson and I left for the night." He informed me, very Connor-like, "I was..." He paused, as if considering what to say, "worried, about you. So I decided to stop by and make sure you were okay."

As he spoke, I turned on the light in the living room, the dull glow of the lamp giving the room a somewhat moody glow. I led Connor to the couch, and we both sat down, a respectable distance between us. As much as I felt for the detective, our relationship had thus far been mostly professional. I occasionally joined him and Hank, alongside a few other friends, for outings to have drinks after the success of a particularly challenging case, but besides that he and I had only had minimal interactions.

I tilted my head at him, giving him a confused look, "You were worried?"

He looked away, blinking a few times as if actually thinking about it, before again meeting my eyes, "Well, yes," he stated matter-of-factly, "I quite enjoy our little talks before leaving in the evenings. One of the detectives who works with you regularly informed me that you had left early in the day, and that you may have been upset." His voice sounded in the stilted manner like before his deviancy, with awkward inflection and emphasis of words that happened sometimes when he was being professional or pragmatic. That being said, he'd made significant improvements in connecting with people, and showed a great amount of genuine emotion and care for others.

I gave him a small, tight smile, "Ah, yeah... I left early today, had a lot on the mind." 

As I spoke, I saw his eyes flashing, glancing around, and I knew he was taking in my apartment, scanning everything in less than a second. He looked back at me with a small nod. He glanced down at empty space for a second, lips parting to say something, but he hesitated, before his pupils flicked back to my face, "Y/n, could I ask you a personal question?"

"Shoot."

"Do you struggle with suicidal tendencies?"

I blanked, and it must've shown on my face from the way Connor tilted his head, blinking at me, intently waiting on an answer.

Finally, I was able to speak again, and the fearfully tight closing of my throat became just a rough scratch of my voice, "...Sometimes. Why do you ask, Connor?"

He clasped his hands together, choosing his words carefully, LED blinking a pale yellow, "I've noticed in our times talking, as well as heard from a few colleagues, that you are very reckless when working dangerous cases and... off-put by even minor mistakes." His eyes trailed across the room, to where a small box of bullets sat atop a stack of books on the entertainment center. He didn't need to say it for me to realize just how quickly he'd pieced everything together. I looked back at him, to find him already staring into me, almost intimidatingly. His voice became hushed, almost comforting, "Where is the gun, Y/n?"

"Beside my bed." There wasn't any point in lying to him. He was designed to investigate and connect the dots, after all. He'd find it eventually if he really wanted. My voice had also become nothing more than a whisper, and when he dipped his head in the direction of the hallway, I only nodded.

Connor stood, walking to the hallway, and into the bedroom. I followed like a lost ghost, silent. Inside, I watched him pick up the gun on the nightstand, inspecting it closely, eyeing the singular bullet stored in it, before he took in the rest of the room. My clothes were in a small pile beside the foot of the bed and a battered knife resting on the other nightstand. It really was a mess.

Connor sat the gun back down, and I could no longer look him in the eye. Instinctively I shrunk into my hoodie, arms pulled close to my chest protectively.

"Y/n," I felt his hand on my upper arm gently, "I feel it would be best if you talked to someone about these feelings."

I turned towards him, almost wrenching my arm away, "Stop talking to me as if I'm some patient, o-or some early deviancy case! I don't like hearing how prerecorded and cold you sound when you talk like that, Connor. I don't need to talk about anything!"

"Y/n, your stress levels are rising quite rapidly, I think it would be best if-"

I snapped at him, "How would you know what is or isn't best for me? Huh, Connor? You barely know me, and still you show up to my apartment and lecture me on suicide!" There was a wetness beginning to form in my eyes, and I didn't bother trying to stop it from happening. The tears fell, leaving spots on the front of my hoodie like little raindrops.

Connor looked at a loss for words, almost. His lips were parted as if to continue, but he just blinked, brows raised. I sat down on the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands, which were covered by my long sleeves. There was a soft creaking as the bed shifted, a weight suddenly beside me. He made no movement to touch me, though, despite how closely we were sitting.

Eventually I broke, "Every single day is torture." I wiped off my face sloppily with my sleeves, staring down at my feet dangling off the bed, skimming the carpet. "Who wants to give a shit about a trans android? Most people don't even want to believe I exist. And it's not like I'm good at my job, either. I'm a new hire still, and constantly all I do is fuck up evidence, let criminals get away, and ruin missions. Instead of being respected and doing something I thought I loved, I'm being harassed and catcalled and reprimanded every single day. All I want to do is just rip apart this stupid fake body and let myself go..."

He didn't respond, and after a few long moments of silence I looked up, to find the warmest brown eyes I'd ever seen looking at me. They were gentle, and kind, and sad, and full of something burning deep inside. I suddenly felt very vulnerable, and every wire inside my gut seemed to suddenly burn. I wanted to look away, but couldn't; my eyes stared up into his.

Connor's hand moved to grab one of my own, holding it almost protectively. I looked down at it, and back up at him as he spoke, "Do you trust me, Y/n?"

Of course. I would trust him with anything. I could only nod, and he stood briefly, before kneeling in front of me. His hand pulled away from mine, and moved to the bottom of my hoodie. His gaze flickered from his hands back up to me, asking without a word. I nodded again, shuffling so that I wasn't sitting on the fabric at all, and letting him gently pull it over my head and set it neatly on the bed.

There on my chest, several gashes were marked deep into the artificial skin, the deep blue color in which Thirium scars. Connor looked at them, no signs yet of disgust or disappointment. He leaned forward, gently pressing his lips to my skin over one of the gashes. I inhaled sharply; he was warm, and just that touch alone made every sensor in my body go on high alert. I was suddenly _very_ aware of the air blowing from the vent, and I shivered.

He sat back, looking up at me, eyes travelling over the rest of me. My feminine build, the goosebumps dotting my skin, and the scars that poked out from under the sports bra. There were obviously many more hidden beneath it, but he made no move to remove the clothing, which I found myself intensely grateful for.

Connor's hands found mine, resting on my legs, and he looked up at me with a sudden intense look, "Y/n, I think you're exquisite." He sounded almost breathless, but pressed on, "You believe that, as you say, 'no one gives a shit about a trans android', but I have to respectfully disagree. While your body may not be the perfect one you have in mind, it is still, for now, _you_. And you, Y/n, are one of the most beautiful souls I have had the pleasure of meeting."

I shook my head, closing my eyes as he talked, "Connor, I... I don't understand."

"Perhaps I have not made myself clear enough." He smiled, and again, everything inside me felt too warm all of a sudden, "Lieutenant Anderson warned me that I, possibly, have not been showing how I feel obviously enough to others. I'd like to change that." He moved to sit beside me on the bed once more, and I felt his hand on my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned into the touch automatically, feeling the warm pads of his fingertips brush against my skin.

When he pulled his hand away, I opened my eyes, about to say something, but the thought vanished as he leaned forwards, capturing my lips with his own. Everything about Connor seemed so soft and gentle, and this moment was no different. Without much thought I raised a hand, and it settled on his chest, over where a human's heart would be. One of his hands covered my own, enveloping it with a protective warmth.

He pulled back for only a moment to whisper against my lips, "Let me show you something Marcus showed me," before pulling me back in.

I knew what he was doing. Both of us removed the skin from our hands, resting on his chest, and I pulled mine back slowly, twisting it to press our palms together between our bodies. I felt a flash, a burning spark, and I saw and felt _everything_. Every lost and confused and betrayed feeling about deviancy, every moment petting Hank's dog, every moment watching... me? It was only a few seconds, but everything radiated warmth, and I understood: Connor was a _very_ hurt and broken person, but he was so full of love and concern and care for so many things, including me.

We both pulled back suddenly, breathing heavy, and eyes wide. He licked his lips, eyes flicking around in somewhat of a shock, before looking back into mine, "Y/n..."

I smiled, tilting my head at him, "I think you've made _something_ very clear, Connor." His brows furrowed, confused, and I continued with a laugh, "You're in love with Hank's dog."

"I- _hey!_ " He gave me a look, shaking his head, before pulling me close to him in a tight embrace. I buried my face into his neck, taking in the surprisingly familiar and comforting scent of his suit, my arms wrapping around him. "I'm in love with someone much more... glorious, than Sumo. But don't tell Hank or Sumo that I said that."

I snorted, pulling back to stare at him, our faces close. I raised a brow, moving a hand to his face, fingers resting where his jaw and neck met, "Glorious?"

"Of course. I think very highly of you, if you hadn't noticed, Y/n."

"Oh, I may have noticed." I smiled, pulling him back into another kiss.

* * *

"Hey, Connor?"

A reply sounded from the kitchen, where a certain detective was putting a kettle on the stove, "Yes, Y/n?"

"Will Hank be expecting you home any time soon?"

There was a long, silent pause, before Connor came strolling back towards the bedroom. He'd ditched his suit jacket, which sat on the chest at the foot of the bed, and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. I'd changed back into just my boxers and a loose shirt on top, surprisingly comfortable around him.

"I don't know, actually. It may be beneficial to call him, or leave him a message, in the case he is already asleep."

I nodded, "If you want, you can stay here tonight, I certainly don't mind." He gave me a knowing smile, and I grinned innocently, "Call him, and if he doesn't answer, leave him a text. I'll go finish the tea, so feel free to get comfortable. You can borrow anything of mine that'll fit you."

He nodded, and I let him be, going out to the kitchen to take the squealing kettle off the stove. I mindlessly made the tea, humming softly, waiting for him. I heard soft mumbling from the bedroom, and the soft padding of footsteps behind me. Before I could turn around, a pair of arms snaked around my waist, holding me tightly, lips pressing against my neck.

"Connor, you're so _warm_ , oh my god." I breathed, leaning back into him. When he let me go, I turned around. He had on a faded red t-shirt, featuring a cute retro gaming character from sometime in Hank's childhood, probably, and one of my comfy pairs of lame plaid boxers, matching my own current ones. The shirt wasn't tight on him by any means, but it certainly fit him well, showing off the lean definition of his chest and shoulders. I placed a hand on his chest, bracing against him to lean up and plant a kiss on his cheek.

"I informed Lieu-" he cut himself off, coughing awkwardly, probably having been chastised again for the formality, "Hank. I informed Hank that I wouldn't be returning home tonight. He said that he's very happy for us, although it was a much more colorful sentence, I'm sure you can imagine." Connor smiled, his beautiful eyes warm and loving.

"I'm sure I can."

* * *

We spent the next hour or so sitting together on the couch and talking, music playing softly in the background, before going to bed. While we didn't necessarily _need_ to sleep of course, but the act of laying down and going into a low power sort of mode was relaxing, and beneficial for androids to keep their systems from being overloaded with stress or tension.

In bed, I snugged up to Connor, again pressing my palm to his, this time watching the skin fade away to the white metallic surface underneath. After the initial shock, there was no more terrifying flashes or sparks, but a warm, happy feeling that filled up my whole body, positively radiating from Connor. I turned over and let him pull me close, my back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around me comfortingly.

Just before I let myself "doze off", a thought came to me: this was the first night in over a month where nothing bad had intentionally happened to me. No bullets, no new scars, nothing. Just warmth and a new, dog-loving boyfriend. A boyfriend who thought I was genuinely handsome, despite every imperfection, who thought I was brilliant, despite his programs being vastly superior to mine, and who wanted to love me for me, even if he didn't always quite know how to show or say it.

I smiled, letting myself exhale, like I was throwing away all the stress from the day. There was a movement behind me, and I felt Connor press a light kiss to my head before he, too, went into sleep mode for the night. We didn't need to express love via words just yet, actions were enough.

Who needed bad decisions when you could cuddle a beautiful boy instead?

**Author's Note:**

> i reALIZED AS I WAS WRITING THAT ANDROIDS DON'T DRINK TEA BUT ITS LIKE 1:45 IN THE MORNING AND I DON'T EVEN CARE ANYMORE UGH
> 
> but uh yeah hey if you liked this, feel free to leave a comment or something, it really helps inspire me to write more!  
> (also if i genuinely messed anything up, like spelling, grammar, or continuity wise please let me know!)


End file.
